Say 'Merlin Help Me' to the Dress
by MotherofBulls
Summary: Concerned about his wife-to-be's mental health, Draco employs Blaise Zabini's assistance in helping Hermione choose the perfect wedding dress. With Albus Potter tagging alone for whatever reason, it's sure to be a boisterous, champagne-soaked experience with absolutely zero productivity. MISSING SCENES from AN INDEFINITE AMOUNT OF FOREVER and threequel to HOT FOR TEACHER!
1. The Dress Squad

**This isn't really a sequel to "An Indefinite Amount of Forever" and "Hot for Teacher." Consider this to be more of a missing series of scenes in AIAOF. ALSO...if you don't read those stories first, this will make significantly less sense.**

 **Shout out to my lovely betas, SaintDionysus and LovesBitca8!**

 **Also...this is a WIP. I feel like that's not clear from the description, but I will be updating regularly!**

* * *

Draco sat on the couch reading the _Daily Prophet_ when he heard her. The stomping, the heavy breathing, the audible scowling, all the sounds of a bride on the edge of heaven. "I can see you're excited about trying on dresses today," he said, not looking up from the paper.

"Is there any rule that says I _can't_ wear a pantsuit down the aisle?"

"Oh, look at this. Florean Fortescue's opening up another branch in Hogsmeade," he said absently.

"I thought I was supposed to be blushing? Isn't that what brides do? Because I'm not blushing. I'm sweating. I'm sweating and I'm leaking. I'm a leaking bride," she said, examining an imaginary wet dot forming on her blouse. "Maybe I should cancel. Mirum's going to need her diaper changed in another couple of hours, and I _just_ started _Game of Thrones_. I have a feeling Ned Stark's going to be the new king of Westeros, and I don't want to miss that. Sean Bean is a national treasure."

Licking his finger, he turned the page. "You're not canceling. You're not leaking. And you're _not_ wearing a pantsuit to our wedding."

The Floo erupted and out strolled Blaise Zabini, dressed to the nines in a pale blue suit with a hot pink pocket square peeking out of the fabric. It shouldn't have worked, but with the cut, fabric, and Blaise's general _je ne sais quoi_ , it was a masterfully constructed outfit. "Sorry I'm late."

"Hey, Blaise. Sorry, I didn't know you were coming. I'm just heading out," Hermione said.

"No, my dear. _We_ are just heading out." Blaise grinned, tugging on the lapels of his jacket. His grin slipped as he examined her. "That's what you're wearing?"

Hermione turned to her fiancé, who had yet to look up from his paper. "Draco? Explanation, please?"

"Blaise is coming with you," he said in an even, almost bored drawl.

"Uh…no thank you. Next, please."

"Look," Draco put the paper down and looked up at her with a serious explanation. "You know I love you, but you do have a tendency to choose clothes that are…" He appeared to be selecting his words carefully. "They're…somewhat less than…well…"

Blaise saved him. "You dress like a constipated Auror, which oddly kind of works for you, but this is the most important day of your life. You have to look like a _girl_ for once."

"I…" Hermione opened her mouth, but nothing came out. "Draco?"

"I love you."

Blaise snickered, prompting a gravelly 'harrumph' from Hermione. "I don't need your help, Blaise."

"Hey, don't take it personally. I help all my female friends find wedding dresses. It's kind of a genius of mine."

"He's not lying. He is _weirdly_ brilliant at it," Draco said.

"So, here's what I'm thinking," Blaise, said, rubbing his chin while he looked her up and down.

"This is your first wedding—"

"—And last—" Draco said.

"—so, you're probably going to want to try on a princess dress. Resist that urge. You're a fully-grown, sophisticated... _ish_ adult woman and this isn't a quinceañera."

"Oh, you know what, that reminds me," Draco said, chiming in. "She should stay away from any kind of beading. With her anxiety, she'll start to pick at it halfway through the ceremony, and we've both got elderly aunts. We can't have that sort of slipping hazard."

Blaise nodded. "Agreed. That said, she's definitely going to want to go with an A-line cut. We need to bring focus to her waist and distract from the hips."

" _Excuse me_?" Hermione's hands flew to said hips.

Blaise continued. "We want the guests wondering ' _How did she lose the baby weight so quickly?_ ' So, we'll also want to stay away from satin. After ten hours on her feet, that won't wrinkle pretty."

"She's _right_ here," Hermione said, glowering.

"Oh, oh, oh," Draco said, just remembering something. "Will you find her something that shows off her décolletage? No one will notice the fabric, trust me."

"You're not wrong. That's one part of the post-baby body that _no one_ can complain about."

" _Hey_." Hermione was done listening to the men discuss her dress options without her input. She inhaled deeply before speaking. "Thank you, Blaise, but I won't be needing your help. Ginny's coming with me, so…thanks anyway."

"Ah, yes. The Weaselette," Blaise said, brushing a speck of imaginary dust off his sleeve. "It's been taken care of."

Hermione blinked several times. "What?"

"I took care of it."

"What does that mean?"

"The Weaselette is, amazingly, even more of a bloke than you are, so she's out of the question."

"Ginny is my best female friend and my maid of honor, so—"

"Forget about Ginny Potter," Blaise said. " _I'm_ your new maid of honor."

"Weird," Draco intoned from the couch, returning to his paper.

"What did you do to Ginny?" Hermione asked.

"Don't worry about it."

" _Blaise!_ "

"Fine." He sighed. "I might have anonymously sent her a deluxe all-inclusive package to the Niagara Falls wine country for this weekend. Everyone knows She-Weasel can't resist free

wine."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Niagara Falls? Really?"

Blaise shrugged. "Have you seen the way she puts it away? There's no way she knows what it tastes like. Frankly, anything better would have been a waste of my money."

"Good one, Blaise. My mum is _total_ lush," said Albus Potter.

All three adults turned to look at the teen who had somehow entered Malfoy Manor undetected.

He appeared not to notice three sets of raised eyebrows, all pointed at him while he unearthed an apple from his jacket, polished it on his sleeve, and took a bite. "So, where are we going first? I hear Madame Claudine has the best champagne, but Brida's Bridal has a sale."

Draco waved his hand away. "My fiancée will _not_ be wearing something off the bloody _clearance rack_. Also, why do you know all this, how did you get past my wards and/or house elves, and most importantly, _why are you here_?"

Albus chewed thoughtfully as he answered each separate question. "Unimportant. Unimportant. And _obviously_ , because I'm coming with her, silly."

"No, you're not," Hermione and Blaise said simultaneously.

"No offense, kid, but Hermione needs a real professional," Blaise said, gesturing to himself. "Not a snot-nosed little half-person who shares Harry Potter's DNA."

Through a mouthful of apple, Albus spoke. "Consider me a proxy for my mother. Because of your antics, Blaise, I may never see her again, so thanks for that. You kind of owe me. And pardon my French, but I would rather _set myself on fire_ than see my best mate Scorpius's big day ruined just because Professor Granger can't pick out a nice dress."

"Um," Draco said, "technically it's not _Scorpius's_ day—"

"Please, Mr Malfoy. The Dress Squad is talking. You're really not needed here," Albus said. He turned back to Hermione and Blaise. "By the way, I've decided that would be a good name for us. I'm sorry neither of you were consulted. Now, Hermione, are you wearing a strapless bra, by chance, or will you be needing some assistance holding them up?"

The room went silent. Draco's coffee went cold as he stared wide-eyed at the impetuous Potter-spawn his son had chosen as best friend. Blaise narrowed his eyes at the teen, disturbed at how many similarities he saw between himself as a youngster and Albus Potter.

As for Hermione, too many unexpected, unwelcome, unnecessary things had happened since she had descended the stairs minutes ago. She growled once more, feeling her hair expand as she did so. She pointed her finger at Blaise She held it there several moments before she spoke. "I do not wear plunging necklines."

Albus snorted. "I should say not. No matter how great Kiera Knightly makes them look, you're far too busty to pull off a plunging neckline. And how would that look with an A-line dress, anyway? With your figure, there's really no other viable option."

Blaise grinned. "Albus Potter! Welcome."

Hermione glared at her fiancé, currently cowering behind his Daily Prophet he had long since finished reading. "You see what you did?"

"I love you." The paper muffled his words.

She narrowed her eyes at both Blaise and Albus. "I'm going to need _a lot_ of champagne."

Blaise snapped his fingers and smiled widely. "That's the spirit!"

Merlin help her.

* * *

 **TBC...**


	2. The Store

**Shout out to my betas, SaintDionysus and LovesBitca8 (seriously, if you haven't read The Right Thing to Do and its sequel, All the Wrong Things yet, what are you even doing? Like...why are you _here_?) for their English/logic/humor checking and to writerspassion18 for French checking!**

* * *

Blaise spoke in rapid, sycophantic French whilst engaging in a series of cheek kisses with Madame Claudine, a rail-thin, scarily chic woman Hermione judged to be between the age of 40 and 90, made almost entirely of right angles.

"So _handsome_ Monsieur Zabini! Is the bride you have brought to me _finally_ your own?"

"Alas, Madame, I remain single. I'm afraid I'm cursed with the inevitable reality that no woman will ever measure up to you."

The older woman giggled as she declared Blaise to be "très coquin" whilst Hermione rolled her eyes and marveled that anyone would ever actually speak like that.

Blaise smiled and motioned towards her. "This is Hermione Granger, my best friend, Draco Malfoy's bride-to-be."

Madame Claudine turned her attention to Hermione, looking her up and down with a frozen smile on her face. "I thought Monsieur Malfoy had already married. His bride was that charming girl with the lovely, long neck."

"Sadly, she passed many years ago, madame."

Madame Claudine clucked her tongue sympathetically. "Oh, mon dieu! Please relay my sympathies to Monsieur Malfoy."

"Of course," Blaise said, though Hermione doubted he had any intention of doing so.

Madame Claudine continued her visual inspection of Hermione. "Have you recently given birth?"

"I…yes. How did you know?"

"You have child-bearing hips. It was a good guess." She pursed her lips at Albus. "And what is this?"

"Je suis enchanté de vous rencontrer Madame Claudine. My name is Albus Potter," he said, bending to bestow a kiss on Madame Claudine's bony hand. "I'll be assisting the lovely Mademoiselle Granger today in finding a dress. My best friend is her future stepson, so you can understand how this is a big day for me."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Technically it has nothing whatsoever to do with you—"

"But of course, Monsieur Potter," Madame Claudine said. "Please be assured that I will do everything in my power to transform Monsieur Malfoy's new fiancée into the woman he deserves." She narrowed her eyes, scanning Hermione's person to detect flaws. "You are a very muscular woman, aren't you, Mademoiselle Granger?"

"Well…you know, I work out."

"Muscular women are difficult to fit. Your shoulders are broad, but you have a very narrow waist. This will make many of my gowns quite impossible for you to wear."

Okay, seriously, fuck this. She busted her arse at the gym after Mirum was born, and she was _quite_ happy with her body, fuck you very much. And Draco certainly never seemed to complain. How dare this old cow criticize her? What sort of world was this where women picked apart other women and made them feel—

"But, you have the _most_ lovely hair, my dear. We must find you a style that suits you with your hair down."

Madame Claudine was _obviously_ an abundantly charming woman who was merely trying to ensure that each and every bride-to-be who walked through her doors, selected a style that accentuated their finest assets. What a wonderful, _wonderful_ person. "Thank you so much, Madame Claudine."

The older woman clapped her hands and a tray of champagne appeared in mid-air.

Perhaps this wouldn't be as bad as she feared.

* * *

"Well? What do you think?"

Blaise, Albus, and Madame Claudine allowed her to pick the first dress herself. Her eyes were drawn to a long-sleeved number on a nearby rack.

Three sets of dead eyes stared back at her. They all spoke at once.

Albus shook his head. "No—"

"—Never," said Blaise.

"—You are beyond my help." Madame Claudine stood up and addressed Blaise and Albus. "Gentleman. You have my sympathies." She turned to look at Hermione one last time, and with a disappointed shake of her head, she left the room.

"What's wrong with it?" Hermione asked.

Albus opened his mouth to speak, but Blaise turned to him and gestured that he would speak for the both of them. "Hermione, love, first let me say that I appreciate that you selected long sleeves, taking into consideration that it's a fall wedding."

"Thank you."

"You're _welcome_. That said, you will wear this dress over my stone cold dead body."

Albus nodded. "It's one of the most flamboyantly dreadful things I've ever seen."

Hermione looked down at the dress. "It's…I suppose the fabric is a bit thick—"

"And _how_ is it simultaneously mumsy, yet _kind of_ see-through around the middle?" Blaise asked.

" _Alright._ I get it. The dress is hideous. Perhaps either of you would care to do better?"

Albus grabbed Blaise's champagne flute from his hand and emptied it in one gulp, ignoring Blaise's indignant glare. "In fact," he said, setting the empty flute on the table in front of them, "I've got some ideas." He clapped his hands and several house elves, each bearing a gown in their arms, emerged from the front room.

Hermione gaped. "When did you-?"

Blaise poured her a glass of champagne. "Just relax, Hermione. Let us take care of you. This is supposed to be _fun_ , remember? Here, have a glass of this." He handed her the flute. "You'll enjoy it. It's a special vintage originally marketed as a bedtime drink for French children. But be careful, it is quite potent."

"Actually, now that I think of it, we're going to pass on the cream," Albus said, stopping a nearby house elf bearing the recently rejected, off-white gown. "No need to draw attention to the fact that she's definitely not a virgin."

"Does your father know where you are?" Hermione asked.

"My father knows absolutely, literally fuck all."

Unable to correct him, Hermione sighed and drained a glass of champagne.

"Hermione," Blaise said. "I have helped _many_ women find their perfect wedding dress. And do you know what the common denominator is?"

"A flat arse and a general sense of interest in this sort of thing?" she guessed.

" _Confidence_ , my fantabulous new best friend. You must see yourself through your groom's eyes. Why do you think my boy Draco fell in love with you?"

"Well…" Hermione said, taking another sip of champagne, "He is inordinately fond of my breasts."

"They are _very_ nice, but I have a different theory," Albus said. "Draco is the sort of man who seems to get excited at the prospect of his bollocks never quite being safe, am I right about that?"

"Okay, Albus," Hermione said, rubbing her eyes. "Let me just say this, and then…it'll be said. You make me uncomfortable."

He shrugged. "That's fair."

Hermione took another sip of champagne. "Also, I'm going to be saying the word 'fuck' quite a lot around you before this day is finished. Just a head's up."

"So will I, Professor Aunt Hermione Granger. So will I," he said.

* * *

"Okay, don't take this the wrong way," Blaise said after his third glass of champagne and Hermione's fifth dress. "But are we absolutely sure that you're a 'wedding dress' kind of girl?"

" _Thank you_ ," Hermione said. "Draco said I wasn't allowed to wear a pant suit."

Albus took a secret swig from a nearby bottle of champagne. "There's no reason a beautiful woman like Professor Gra…" He paused when he noticed the freaked out look on Hermione's face at being called 'professor' away from Hogwarts grounds. "Aunt Herm…no. That's worse. There's no reason _she_ can't find a wedding dress. She's easily the one of the top five most bangable white female professors at Hogwarts."

She rolled her eyes. "Thank you, Albus."

His face took on an expression of utmost solemnity. "And I mean that, Professor Aunt Hermione. I really do."

Hermione's hair was that special type of frizzy that only happens after a woman has tried on multiple clothing items under fluorescent lighting and hated all of them, as well as discovered new things about her own body to hate. "It doesn't bloody help that everything I try highlights _another_ one of my flaws. _You're not tall enough for that. Those sleeves make you look like a she-Hulk. Not enough cleavage._ You never even ask me _my_ opinion."

Albus took another swig of champagne. "If my mother were here, would _she_ ask you your opinion?"

The answer was a definitive, neon-colored, block-lettered, Hell No. Ginny would be wasted off her arse by now, Madame Claudine would be in tears, and Hermione would probably, oddly, feel like a million Galleons. She could almost hear her. _"Now you listen to me, you hot-ass bitch! You will wear this form-fitting, low-cut, overpriced piece of shit on your wedding day because Hermione Granger ain't no simple ho and she doesn't bloody hide. You got a problem with that? Fight me!"_ Maybe she should text her.

"I'll humour you.." Albus sat back in his seat, his head spinning slightly from having stolen many glasses-worth of champagne. "What do you like about the one you're wearing now?"

She looked down at the sleeveless, mermaid number she was wearing. Well, the…bodice is interesting, I guess. And, um…" She bit her lip.

"You have absolutely no idea, do you?" Albus asked.

"Look, I know fuck all about this kind of thing. Normally, I just buy the simplest thing that fits nicely."

"You know," Blaise said, slurring his words a bit. "That's not a bad strategy, style-wise. So many women get it wrong because they try to do something exciting or trendy, but they don't understand their body. And they don't have the courage to be understated like our lovely, elegant Hermione."

She blinked at him. "Thank you, Blaise."

"Can I tell you what I think about the dress, Hermione?" Blaise asked. "That gown makes your body look divine. It's perfect for an athletic hourglass shape like yours."

Blaise Zabini, her new best friend, everyone. " _Thank_ you."

"However, it doesn't suit _you_. That dress is made for a Pinterest addict with a 'y' in the middle of her name and a French-tip pedicure who _happens_ to have exactly your dimensions."

"I'm in complete agreement, Blaise," Albus said, standing. "Give us a twirl, will you, Hermione?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not doing that."

"I have to insist."

"I changed your diapers. I win."

He smirked. "No you didn't."

No, she didn't, because she was terrified of children at the time. "I _could have_ changed your diapers because I'm your godmother and I bloody well think that means you don't get to boss me around."

" _I_ think," Blaise interjected, "that we should go with this new insight and find something simple."

* * *

 _Two glasses of champagne later…_

" _NEXT!_ "

"I like this one."

"I think you're full of shit," Albus said. "I think you just want this day to be over, so you'll say anything to make that happen."

Hermione scoffed. "Well, _I think_ that you're a champagne-stealing little creep with an unnatural interest in women's clothes."

"All of those statements are correct," he said. "NEXT!"

"You know what?" Hermione said. "I hope your Star Wars fanfiction gets like… _no_ favorites."

Albus gasped and clutched his chest. "That is _so mean_ ," he said with an air of grave sincerity.

* * *

 _A glass of champagne later…_

They were all three dancing. Wild, unskilled, dancing to Kanye's new album. How did this happen? The details were hazy.

"Hey look!" Albus said. "I can see myself in all the mirrors!"

And they all laughed.

* * *

 _Two glasses of champagne later…_

"You know what," Hermione said, sitting in front of the mirrors in a puffy, sparkly princess-style dress with bright sequins on the bust, "maybe this is just the champagne talkin', but I think this is the one."

"Maybe _this_ is just the champagne talkin'," Blaise said, "but I _kind_ of feel like we're all becoming best friends."

" _I feel that too_!" Albus said.

Hermione giggled. "You…should not be drinking. You're fifteen. Ten points from Slytherin." She hiccuped.

"I love you guys," Albus said. "And I think we should get fish and chips."

Hermione took another sip of champagne. "You guys have no idea how much I missed _this_ ," she motioned with her champagne glass, "when I was pregnant." She hiccuped. It's possible her tolerance was-

She burped.

-somewhat diminished.

She giggled. "There are bubbles in my nose."

Albus burped. "Fish. And chips."

"You know, Mirum really is adorable." Blaise hiccuped. "Let me give you the number of my former agent from my baby model days."

"I don't think so," Hermione said, burping through a hiccup. "I will not capitalize on my baby's precious sweet angel face. _That's_ how you make strippers."

Albus poked Blaise. "No, but really, if fish and chips aren't to your fancy, we could do a pizza."

Blaise laughed, ignoring Albus. "Draco said the same thing when I suggested it."

"Seriously, even a kebab would be great right now. I really didn't have a big lunch," Albus said.

Blaise grinned. "I've got a better idea."

* * *

 **TBC...**


End file.
